Requiem for an Angel
by Operatic
Summary: Christine Daae is dead...and I shake my death's head, refusing to believe that my angel, my wife, my soulmate is truly gone for good...EC, Leroux based.


**REQUIEM FOR AN ANGEL**

**I, Operatic, do not The Phantom of the Opera.**

She is dead.

My perfect angel is no longer for this earth.

I shake my death's head, not wanting to face the facts. Refusing to accept the truth, and yet it stares up at me in bold print.

**CHRISTINE DAAE: DEAD**

She really was an angel.

I had stayed by her side as she died, not daring to move a muscle lest I cause her any discomfort. My rose was wilted, yet had not lost any of it's beauty. Her hair, once blonde and full of light, now specked with grey, was still soft and rose scented. Her face, once spotless, was weary from illness. And yet she was so beautiful.

And she held my hand. And I kissed her forehead. And she did not back away, nor did she ever in the years we were married. I still can see the night in my mind, as clearly as I see my angel's death notice today. She had said her vows a bit too quickly, and I felt instant sadness. I had captured an angel, and was now binding her to a monster, forever. I knew, seeing her eyes squeezed tight, chin up, lips slightly puckered, that I should have allowed her to go free with the boy. And yet, I never could! So, I put all thought of the boy aside, and kissed my wife's lips for the first time.

Kissed Christine's lips for the first time.

It was not as I'd expected, or, perhaps how I'd expected, but not at all what I'd hoped. I, very tentatively, placed one of my bony hands on her thin shoulders. She immediately shivered, but I could see that she did not dare recoil. When I pressed my lips to hers, she froze- her entire body, lips, hands, head. However, she seemed to have thought I'd had my fill, as she moved away from me. Of course, by now, I was relying on my most animal instincts, and they told me that I needed more. So, I placed one of my hands to the back of her head, forcing her lips to once again meet mine. This resulted only in another one-sided kiss, and a strange sound in the back of her throat. I would liked more than anything in the world for that sound to be love desire...But no. Of course not. It was loathing, disgust...fear...And a husband should not, no matter what the circumstances, inspire fear in his wife. Ever. Disgusted with myself, I let go.

And once I'd backed away, she very slowly opened her eyes. Her eyes sparkled with tears, her face broken with barely concealed sadness. Or was it pity? Whatever it was, however, she refused to look at me for the rest of the night, and my wedding night was filled with the sound of my wife sobbing behind a closed door, and my own tears which I had then allowed to fall.

Christine did not emerge from her bedroom for the entire length of the next day. I still heard muffled sobs from behind the door, though I did everything in my ability to cheer her. Only when I sang to her did she fall completely silent, although she might very well have fallen asleep.

By the third day she had come out only for meals, though not a word passed between her lips. Her face was red and tear-streaked, and yet still so beautiful. Her appetite was not up too her usual standards, and her waist was proof of that. I still wore a mask, as I had needed one when we married. I saw her looking at it curiously, the usual ebony replaced with ivory. I smiled, an action that was then alien to me, and I told her very gently that if she wished, I would wear a mask on a regular basis to spare her the sight of her husband's face. She said nothing, only took a small bite of toast. She then, once again, retired to her bedroom, leaving me with only my music for company.

Our marriage consisted of this for, at the very least, a week. But, one afternoon, Christine discovered that it was quite safe to speak to her husband. I was, at the time, engrossed in my music. But, I felt a timid hand on my shoulder, and a very meek voice from behind me simply requesting I play so my angel could sing. Wordlessly, I turned my head, to see my angel's red eyes. The difference, however, was that she seemed to be attempting a small smile. I nodded my head, and we played through a few pieces before she finally requested I removed my mask. I did so without a word, and we resumed our music for hours to come.

It seems long ago now, yet I will never forget a single detail. I used to wonder if she hated me, as she certainly did not love me. Not yet.

She got used to me. She eventually stopped crying, and she started smiling a bit more. However, I coud still see. Past her seemingly content facade, through her overly cheerful eyes, I could see her greif. I could see her love, not for me, but for Raoul. For him! And when I saw that love, my rage sprang to life, and I found myself needing to pound my vengeance on the piano.

Only once did I dare show her how angry I was. Ever since she had consented to be my wife, I had become very careful with my anger. But it was that night when I could not hold in my rage, when I could not take it out on my music, when it came out in the open for Christine to see. For that night, she had asked for permission to see the boy.

"Just a friendly meeting," she had pleaded, not daring to look me in the eye. And at that moment I lost hold of my temper, and my tongue. I can't remember the words I screamed at her, only that they were vile and I regretted each one. I do remember one thing that night, however. The words that my angel spoke after I had stopped yelling.

"Of course I love him! And if I had any control over my life, I would be married to him now, and much happier!"

And she had run into her room, tears falling freely down her porcelain face.

We did not speak for days, nor did we want to. We found, however, if we were married, one of us had to break the silence. It was Christine who finally tried to bridge the gap we had created, as I was much too arrogant. Although, it was not that she spoke, but that she sang. I was sitting in the music room, at the piano, composing. And she walked in, singing a simple tune that we both knew well. She seemed to be begging for accompaniment, and began to play for her. It was not long until we were singing together, both of us lost in the other's voice. She rested a hand on my shoulder, and I played softer. And when we had finished, she cupped my chin in her small hands, and looked at my unmasked, skeletal face. And she told me that she sincerely regretted the words that were spoken. I agreed, of course, though I was in pure disbelief at her boldness. She went on to say that being married to me was not a nightmare, was at times enjoyable. I said nothing, only rested my head on my bony hand, leaning my elbow on the piano. She must have sensed that I did not trust her word, for she sat down beside me and took my hand.

"Erik," she had said, letting her thumb massage my bony knuckles. "Believe that what I say is true: I do not hate you, nor did I ever, nor will I ever. I am bound to you forever, and, believe me," she took my cheek in her hand and forced my eyes into hers. "There are worse people in the world. If I have to be bound to someone, I'd rather it be you than someone I don't trust."

Joy. Unexplainable joy raced through my body. She did not despise me for taking her. No, she even considered me a friend! It wasn't even love, and yet I felt as though I was on top of the world, rather than five cellars below it. And hesitantly, very hesitantly, I placed my thin lips to her soft forehead. And she did not back away, did not scream, did not die. She did not even flinch at the cold touch that I bestowed upon her! And at that moment, for the first time in my pitiful life, I thanked God for allowing me such an angel. I thanked Him for not letting me lead my life alone, thanked him for Christine, for all the things He had given me that I did not deserve. And I thanked Him for the chance of forgiveness, for the chance of heaven when I die. But at the present moment, I had been quite alive and crying in front of Christine, who had a worried expression on her face.

"Erik," she asked slowly, touching my arm. "Have I upset you in any way?"

All I could do was shake my head, for I was so overcome in emotion that I found myself incapable of speaking. My shoulders shook, and my long, slender fingers covered my horrid face. I shook my head again and turned to face her with what I hoped was a smile on my face, and not a menacing glare. I still sobbed in joy, and was only capable of uttering one meaningful word:

"Thank-you."

And she smiled and took my hand, leading me out of the music room and into the kitchen. She began her search for a suitable dinner, yet I could not rid myself of biting curiosity. I tried to keep my question to myself, but it seemed to pop out of my mouth by itself as soon as I let my guard down.

"Christine," I had said, and I cursed myself. However, I had to finish my thought now that I had my angel's attention, lest I look like a fool. "Do you think you will ever become capable of loving me? Like a woman is supposed to love her husband?"

And in that moment, I hated myself. I saw her eyebrows shoot up in surprise, her lips become pursed, her eyes go to the ground, and I hated myself all the more. I thought immediately that she was angry at me, that she was going to storm out and not leave her room for another month, at least. But she caught me completely off gaurd, for she soon answered, proving that she was not angry, but thinking. But what really shocked me was the answer she gave.

"Yes," she stated, looking me in the eye. She saw the joy on my skeletal face, and immediately looked away. "I believe that one day I will love you as lovers do. I already love you in a friendly sense, and one day I will love you as a wife loves her husband." and she immediately turned her back to me, continuing on her quest.

One day, one day she said that she would love me, and I looked forward to that in anticipation. So long ago, it seems...

**You may not believe this, but I've been working on this for months...and it's not finished. More will come soon. I do not own Phantom of the Opera.**


End file.
